


Slow Hand

by dandyqueen



Series: fire in the blood [1]
Category: The Last of Us
Genre: F/M, because life sucks otherwise, it's shameless smut what more do you want, passers-through, sex with joel is nice and soft, there's guitars and coffee and good times, trading posts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandyqueen/pseuds/dandyqueen
Summary: Joel’s been searching high and low for coffee for, well, the past twenty years. You happen to be able to provide. Yeah, he's a little embarrassed about what he traded to get that coffee, but a trade’s a trade, and he's not complaining.Clap your hands if Knife Dad deserves the best good good.
Relationships: Joel (The Last of Us)/Original Female Character(s), Joel (The Last of Us)/Reader
Series: fire in the blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861858
Comments: 22
Kudos: 166





	Slow Hand

**Author's Note:**

> y'all must be scared to suck this man's dick bc i've read a lot of these fics and haven't seen it yet
> 
> anyway i fixed it for ya

It’s day three in Jackson, Wyoming, and, yeah, it’s been fun, but you’re ready to get back to Nevada. It’s not that you don’t like Jackson - you’ve got nothing at all bad to say about Jackson. It’s nice here for sure and wholly different than anywhere you’ve been in the past few years. Everyone is so lovely and polite, and no one has pointed a gun at you for the past three days, so you’ll call that a win. 

Honestly, you’d stay longer if you could - it’s just that Jackson is pretty far out of the way for you, considering Nevada is two states west. You’ve got a good reason to be here. You’re looking for something - _someone_ \- who’s supposed to be here in Jackson County, but you can’t keep looking forever. You’ve got trading posts to find and your own settlement to take care of back home (some of whom have followed you from Nevada to Jackson). It doesn’t help that you haven’t had any luck at the trading post the past couple of days while you’ve been looking for your _someone_.

Joel Miller. Dude’s hard to find. No one seems to be able to (or wants to) tell you where he is. You’ve been to every tiny store and trading spot in the town and left without a single lead other than _he’s around here somewhere_. Obviously, he doesn’t want to be found, though you don’t know why. But he’s the reason for your search, and you’ll be damned if you’re not going to give it your all to find him.

You’ve given yourself one more day - just today - to find him. Regardless of whether you manage to hunt him down, you’re leaving in the morning. Again, you haven’t had much luck trading your own goods at the trading posts so there’s no reason to stick around any longer, but thankfully you’ve been able to trade for a few necessities your own group needs. But the goods you’re holding on to specially – the ones you’ve brought with that _someone_ in mind - are starting to really weigh your backpack down. You’re going to be a little pissed to leave without what you’ve traveled five-hundred miles to find.

It’s around noon when you find someone willing to tell you where to find Joel (though not without some finagling). Maria is apparently the leader of the town, and she’s stopped by your trading spot because she’s looking for some spices you’re carrying. She’s cagey about Joel’s whereabouts (why is everyone being so sketchy about him?) until you explain what you’re looking for, and what you have to offer. You have to prove it, of course, away from prying ears, since you’re carrying coffee and coffee is rare and expensive.

Once you prove it, you finally find a little bit of the luck you’ve been looking for. Maria politely guides you to the watchtower where Joel is stationed for the day in exchange for a jar of cardamom and a spice grinder. You have to throw in the spice grinder because there’s multiple watchtowers and you don’t have time to search them all by yourself.

You’re not sure what you expected to find, but… it wasn’t this. Yeah, your contact told you that Joel was an older man - a former smuggler who’d finally decided to take it easy. You didn’t really think much beyond what you were told.

The man that you find is, yes, an older man, but he’s held up well despite all the hardships he’s undoubtedly faced. His salt-and-pepper hair is still thick, as is his beard, and is still more black than gray. He’s tall and solid, with the kind of deep, gravelly voice that makes you forget what you’re even here to do. There’s something sad in his eyes, though – something that you can’t put your finger on. Everyone has seen hardships since Outbreak Day, but he looks like he’s been on the worst end of it.

Bottom line: he’s handsome, and you’re very, very distracted.

You introduce yourself and thank Maria as she leaves the watchtower. Joel introduces himself in turn with a quick handshake. His hand dwarfs yours and his fingers are knotted with callouses, and once again, you’re so distracted that you barely catch what he’s trying to say to you.Joel looks a little amused, as if he can tell what you’re thinking and why you’re so flaky. You’ve never been good at hiding your expressions anyway.

He crosses his arms, and you catch the shift of corded muscle and ropes of veins. “What can I do for you?”

 _A lot_ , you almost answer, but you catch yourself. This is not the time to be a doofus. You’re here for one reason only, and you’ve finally got the chance to get what you came to find.

“I have a bargain for you, if you’re interested,” you reply. “A trade.”

He seems interested, which is a great sign. “What’re you lookin’ to trade?”

You twist around and adjust your backpack so that it hangs in front of your body. “A girl from my settlement came through Jackson a few months ago. She told me she’d met a woodworker in passing.”

Joel shrugs. “It’s a hobby.”

You tug at the zipper of your backpack and extract one of two ceramic containers. “I’m looking for something, and I’m hoping you might be able to help me. I think you’ll like my offer.”

This is your moment. Your golden opportunity. Five hundred miles with part of your settlement marching right along behind you, all to get right here. You unlatch the top of the container and hold it out for Joel to take. It’s a solid pound of coffee beans - worth its weight in gold these days. It's worth the trade, though, if Joel has what you’re looking for.

Joel looks like you really did hand him a pound of gold, the way his sad hazel eyes light up. He hasn’t seen real coffee in years - not since the Boston QZ stopped distributing the instant stuff in the ration packs. He hasn’t seen whole beans since before Outbreak Day. 

“Where the hell did you get this?” Joel asks, taking in the scent of coffee. Reluctantly, he latches the top back on and hands the container back to you. “ _How_ did you get this?”

You suspect that this kind of smile is rare coming from him, judging by the frown lines cutting his cheeks. The realization makes your heart ache. Maybe you’re going soft, but even if he can’t provide what you’re looking for, you decide you’ll leave the container of coffee beans with him anyway. Besides, you have a second container of coffee beans with you and there’s plenty more waiting with your contact down on the Mexico border.

One thing is for sure: the look on his face tells you he’ll give you whatever you want if he can. 

“There’s a group down on the Mexican border trying to grow coffee beans,” you say. You hold the container like a prize, more out of the need to keep yourself grounded. It’s been a long time since you’ve been attracted to anyone, alright? And Joel is fucking delicious. “It’s not the pre-Outbreak stuff, but it’s good.”

“Well, what are you lookin’ to trade for it?” Joel asks, and you can tell he’s trying to keep the giddiness out of his voice. He’s failing, but it’s cute. “If I’ve got what you’re lookin’ for, it’s yours.”

“I’ve been looking for a guitar for a really long time,” you say. “Every time I find one, it’s rotten or splintered, or the strings have rusted through. I heard you make guitars?”

Interestingly, Joel clams right up. “I do - I mean, I’ve made a couple. I’m working on it.”

It’s a funny thing watching a man who looks like he’s never been embarrassed a day in his life get flustered. It’s not the reaction you expected to get from him. You can’t help but smile at the flush creeping gently up past the unbuttoned collar of his flannel shirt.

You wave the container of coffee beans enticingly to tease him. “Well, what do you say?”

Joel glances at the canister in your hand. He doesn’t even think about it before he says, “Alright, yeah.”

The grin that splits your face makes him pause for a second, and he matches it when you say, “Great!” You move to hand him the container, but he waves you away.

“Listen, uh, I’m still on watch for a little while,” Joel says. “Are you gonna stick around Jackson?”

You nod. “Yeah - my group leaves in the morning.”

Joel chews on the thought before he lets it comes out of his mouth. He’s always been careful about letting people in his space, even here in Jackson, but you seem pretty okay. Admittedly, the coffee may be clouding his judgment. “Come by my place later. We’ll get you squared away.”

“Perfect!” you reply, and in your offhand way, you decide to take a chance and ask for something you would, under any other circumstance, never approach. Might not live to see tomorrow in this post-Outbreak world, after all. And you’ve already made your trade, so it can’t hurt. “And, um, totally up to you, of course, but… company comes with the offer. If you’re interested.”

You can only just see it beneath the beard, but Joel smiles. It’s a different kind of smile than when you handed him the container of coffee, soft and a little sweet, like he’s flattered. You’ve never been shy a day in your life, but that smile has you looking down at the floor and shuffling your feet.

“I’m done with my watch shift at six.”

* * *

It’s still hard to believe Jackson has electricity, but lo and behold, when you step up on Joel’s front porch, there’s an actual security light burning bright next to the door. (The hot showers and running water are nice, too.)

Joel answers the door and ushers you in, once again trying to hide the giddiness creeping into his voice. Dude wants his coffee. You can’t blame him – you probably looked the same way when you found real coffee again, too.

You follow him upstairs to his workshop, and upon entering the tiny, cramped room, you stop at the door in disbelief. “This is incredible, Joel.”

Joel’s workshop smells like wood and varnish, and there’s not a single surface free of one project or another. The tables are weighed down with carvings of animals - everything from horses to deer to dogs. There’s a couple of unvarnished rocking chairs in the corner, resplendent even though the woodgrain still needed sanding, flanked by what looks like the beginning frame of a nightstand or a table. It’s all crafted so painstakingly precise, and you can’t remember a more beautiful sight.

He tries his best not to grin, but you catch him smiling sheepishly at his boots. “I was a carpenter before the Outbreak.”

You give him a short once-over, your gaze lingering on his arms. He’s wearing a t-shirt, thank goodness, which affords you a fantastically unimpeded view. “I see that.”

Joel’s a little taken aback, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he shuts the door halfway behind you so that you can step behind it. On the wall that, until now, hasn’t been directly visible, a set of five guitars hang. A couple of them haven’t been strung yet and one of them clearly isn’t finished, but they’re all unbelievably beautiful. He’s sanded them down and stained them, strung them just as perfectly as any pre-Outbreak professional instrument.

A can of coffee suddenly doesn’t seem like the appropriate trade for a guitar. You tell him as much.

“It’s more than fair for a pound of whole coffee beans,” Joel replies. He takes one of the already-strung guitars down from the wall and strums it softly before passing it to you. “Try it out.”

You’re rusty, that’s for sure, but it’s been about ten years since you’ve seen a real guitar, so you don’t feel too embarrassed. Still, music is something that never really leaves a person. You pick a few notes - something by Hank Williams, you think, though you’ve long since forgotten the actual name of the song - and that seems to please Joel as much as it pleases you. The guitar sounds as beautiful as it looks, and once again, you’re mightily impressed by this man.

It occurs to you that while wood might be readily available, the hardware on the instrument isn’t. “Where’d you get the strings?”

“Found ‘em. There’s old abandoned music store a couple towns over.”

“I can’t believe they’re not rusted through.”

“Me either,” Joel replies, scratching the back of his head. “I guess I’ll have to learn to make the strings from scratch eventually.”

You play for another few minutes, working through the cords that you remember. Joel coaches you through the cords you have trouble remembering.

“If it’s okay with you, I like this one,” you say, passing the guitar back to Joel while you grab the container of coffee beans from your bag. You hand the container to him once you find it. “Here’s your coffee.”

Joel looks like you just handed him the key to immortality. Again, he’s fighting the giddiness creeping up through his voice. “Much appreciated.”

You follow him out of his workshop, guitar in hand, and down to the kitchen you’d walked through earlier. You’re not under the impression that your second offer was accepted, so you turn to walk out the door.

Joel stops you before your hand touches the doorknob.“Got time to stay for a cup?”

You bite your bottom lip to keep from smiling and nod. “I’ve got time.”

You realize as he starts looking for something to make the coffee with that you traded him whole coffee beans without thinking twice about whether he could actually use them. You have a little handheld grinder in your backpack that wasn’t originally supposed to be used for coffee beans (hint: it’s for weed), but it works just as well with careful maneuvering. You hand it to him, fully intending to just let him keep it. 

Joel’s not the talkative type, but you don’t mind. You’re more than happy to watch him work from your spot at his kitchen table. In fact, watching him move around the kitchen is a goddamn delight. He’s so solidly built, all hard muscle from the years of physical exertion. The t-shirt and jeans don’t disguise much of his body since they’re starting to get a little threadbare. You watch him shamelessly, and luckily for you, he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Finally, he hands you the matching mug to his own, filled to the brim with coffee. It’s plain old black coffee, which suits you. He doesn’t put anything in his coffee either.

Joel’s trying to make small talk, which you can tell he’s not used to doing. He asks you where you’re from without offering much about himself, but that’s just fine. You don’t want to pry, and you’ve already seen most of his house anyway. The pictures on his walls tell you more than enough about his life.

“Georgia, originally,” you tell him, sipping your coffee gingerly. It’s not bad. He’s done a damn fine job to have had to do all the work manually. “I’d just started college when the infection hit Atlanta. I got stuck in the Atlanta QZ until it went to shit about, oh, five years ago now.”

“How’d you get out?”

“Stole a military convoy,” you grin, chuckling at the disbelieving look on his face. “I worked for the CDC, so I had access.”

“That’s one way to do it.”

“Certainly not the easiest way, I’d have to say.”

“What did you do at the CDC?” Joel asks carefully. There’s something behind that question, though you couldn’t guess what it might be.

Besides, you’re not really sure how to answer his question. “Research, mostly. It’s all that was left to do.”

Joel nods and changes the subject. No need to talk about the infection when you could walk outside and find it anywhere. “Where’d you end up?”

“I had friends out in Nevada, so they took me into their settlement,” you say. “I’ve got a whole group of them with me here.”

Again, Joel’s question is careful, but for a quite different reason. “You sure they’re not missing you right now?”

You laugh. “Oh, no. They found that bar in the middle of town the first night. I haven’t actually seen them the past couple of days.”

“Well, Sam’s is pretty popular this time of day.” Joel looks down at his cup, like he’s right on the edge of asking a question he figures he shouldn’t. His hazel eyes reflect almost golden in the faded afternoon light streaming from the window above the kitchen sink. He glances up at you, and it’s so easy to forget you’re only here until tomorrow morning. “Still lookin’ for some company?”

You bite your bottom lip and nod.

* * *

It’s the middle of August, so it’s still hot as sin even in the late afternoon. Thankfully, though, there’s a window unit droning in Joel’s bedroom window. It’s taken the damp heat out of the air, which is a blessing since you’re both feeling a little hot right now. Joel’s shirt is stuck to his skin by a thin layer of sweat, but that’s fine - you imagine you look similar. It’s not going to matter in a few minutes anyway. Clothes aren’t necessary for what you’ve got in mind.

The bedroom door is shut less than a second before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in close. You hadn’t realized until now how much taller he is than you, so you have to step up on your tiptoes to get a good grip on him. His hands settle on the small of your back, and those hazel eyes that have been _killing_ _you_ for the past hour damn near smolder as he looks down at you.

Joel’s touch is soft, easy. He’s gentler than you would have guessed, but he’s firm as he coaxes you up against the bedroom door. It’s just what you need - just what you both need, it seems, from the way he sighs against your mouth when you kiss him. His lips are soft, a little chapped, as he leaves a wet trail from the corner of your mouth to the spot under your jaw that makes you tighten your arms around his neck.

As much as you want to take this slow, to touch and feel and enjoy the lingering brush of his calloused hands on your skin, just looking at him has been testing your willpower, so you’re not inclined to be patient. You let go of him just long enough to drag your shirt over your head and toss it into some mystery corner.

Joel can take a hint. As much as he likes to take his time, he finds that his patience has similarly vanished. Call him a little worked-up, but it’s probably been about as long for you as it’s been for him, and he’d hate to keep you waiting.

He slides his hands up your sides and around to your back, all the while leaving a damp trail of kisses down to your collarbone. He pinches the hooks holding your bra together and tosses it into the same mystery corner as your shirt.

You kiss his temple, burying your nose in his thick hair while you tease him, “Someone knows the bra trick…”

He hums his agreement against the line of your collarbone where he’s been mouthing gently. “You know what they say about old dogs and their tricks.”

Skimming the line of your breasts with just his fingertips, all along the underside, he catches your nipple with the pad of his thumb. You’ve been silent thus far, but you can’t keep quiet when the rasp of his calloused fingers against your skin feels so impossibly good. He tweaks your nipple between his fingers, one, then the other, and you can’t help but groan into the kiss that he still hasn’t broken. He grins against your mouth.

As much as you want him to keep doing what he’s doing, you’ve got a better idea. He’s pressed against you, every solid bit of him, and it’s not hard to tell through his thin jeans that he’s already hard. You work your hand down to his belt and pry it open before dropping down to your knees, tugging the fabric down with you. 

If Joel wasn’t already hard from just being grabbed, he’s certainly hard now. Your hand snakes up to bunch the hem of his shirt up out of your way so you can get an unimpeded view of how perfect he looks on display for you, cock flushed heavy and thick. It looks a little painful, but you figure there’s an easy fix for that. You brace back against the door and urge him forward so that he’s hunched over you and watching intently as you press a kiss to the soft skin of his thigh. You keep your eyes trained on his face, looking up at him as you mouth along his skin, closer and closer to the mark with every inch, fingertips trailing down the backs of his thighs so that goosebumps erupt everywhere you touch.

Joel sighs a soft shudder of relief as you finally take him in your mouth. He’s taken over the job of keeping his shirt out of the way for you, the gray fabric clutched tight between white knuckles. It clearly hasn’t occurred to him that he could just take it off, but you’re not mad about the view. The line of dark hair trailing from his stomach under his shirt leaves an innocence to the imagination that makes your head go fuzzy, so you keep your eyes trained on his face instead.

His free hand cups your cheek as you lick up along his length, and he braces his forehead against the door, eyes squinched shut, when you suck the tip of him into your mouth. You grab his hips and squeeze, a gentle reminder to watch. He obeys, and you make sure to give him a good show by hollowing out your cheeks and sucking him down to the root.

It doesn’t take him long for him to tap out, which strokes your ego like nothing else. He squeezes your shoulder reluctantly, and he’s breathless when he tells you to stop. “Ease up, darlin’.”

You lick the underside of his shaft all the way up to the tip, making him twitch. Humming, as if thoughtfully, you run your hands up the backs of his thighs and say, “Sure you want me to stop?”

He huffs, and you can tell he’s fighting the urge to just let you continue. “You’re gonna have to give me a minute if you don’t.”

“We got all night.”

He almost relents when you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. _Almost._ He sure looks like he wants you to keep going, but he manages to pull himself back. He hauls you to your feet and kisses you to back you up against the bedroom door. The way your head swims under the heat of his body bearing down on you feels like being baptized and dunked twice for good measure.

Joel leads you to the bed and keeps you steady as you kick out of your jeans. His jeans have been left next to the door, completely forgotten. He finally pulls his shirt off and god _damn_ if he’s not beautiful. You’re hard-pressed to keep yourself from drooling because every inch of him is tanned and weather-worn from the years of harsh sun, solid as you thought he’d be, with a soft smattering of dark hair fading to gray. You’re itching to get your hands on him, but as good as he looks, the best thing is that he’s looking at you like he can’t decide what part of you to put his mouth on first.

He settles himself down between your thighs, making a slow path up from the inside of your knee to the hem of your underwear. His beard tickles your skin, rough against your thigh, but he soothes your skin with a swipe of his tongue. The warmth of his breath washes over the space between your thighs where he’s settled, and you’re all but twitching with anticipation.

You’re impatient, though, and you’ve never had anyone do to you what Joel wants to do, so you’re a little nervous. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, brushing his scalp with your nails and making him shiver against you. “You don’t have to-”

“Be rude not to reciprocate after that show you gave me,” Joel replies, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh. His voice rumbles against your skin, and he licks his lips as he looks up at you. “I bet you taste as good as you look, darlin’.”

You don’t respond – your fuzzy reptilian brain won’t let you. You just lift your hips up when he asks you to so he can slide your underwear out of the way. His mouth is on you in an instant, warm in the chill of the bedroom, tongue sweeping in broad strokes up the line of your cunt and dipping in to taste you. He brings his thumb up to meet his tongue, circling your clit in his slow, tortuous path.

The soft, wet sounds of Joel’s tongue dipping in to taste you likely would have been embarrassing if you could even fight through the fog clouding your brain. All you can concentrate on is the sluggish heat deep in your belly threatening to spill over and the sound of your own voice as you try - and fail - to keep quiet.

The way you’re starting to clench down around Joel’s fingers tips him off that you’re close, so he pulls away, mouth shiny from you.There’s a hint of smugness in his voice. “Doin’ okay up there?”

You groan, almost whining. “Joel, if you don’t-”

“If I don’t _what_?” Joel’s body covers yours, hot in the chill of the room. He’s fucking incredible, every muscle lining up against you, his weight oddly comfortable. His cock presses insistently against your thigh as he coaches you to wrap your legs around his waist. He cradles the back of your neck in his hand. “What do you want me to do, honey?” 

“Don’t tease me, Joel, just _fuck me -_ ”

Joel lines the head of his cock up with your entrance, and if you had the presence of mind to do it, you could have shifted your hips to get some relief. Still, he doesn’t move, just nudges against you with the kind of restraint you’d never even thought possible. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“ _Please_ , Joel - just _fuck me_ -”

Joel kisses you, and it’s so sweet that you almost forget he just made you beg. He’s so gentle as he slides in, it almost makes your heart ache. You make yourself relax, and once you do, you’re right back to begging him to _move_. He’s only too happy to oblige your demands.

He pulls back to the tip and pushes in, establishing the kind of slow, deep rhythm that makes you sob out his name. He cants his hips so that he’s stroking the deepest parts of you, brushing up against the spot that pulls the harshest groans from you. With the hand that’s not supporting your neck and keeping himself up, he braces your hips to keep you steady. He dips down to catch a nipple between his teeth, rolling it against his tongue until you’re scratching his back and tugging at his hair. He makes a show out of sucking bruises onto the underside of your breasts, far from anyone’s prying eyes, but enough to stake his claim. 

He tucks your legs over his shoulder as he gets close to release, keeping you spread wide for him. He doesn’t stray from the pace he’s set - that slow, deep rhythm that keeps waves of warmth rolling up your spine. When he brings his hand down to your clit, teasing and circling the little nub, it’s not long before you’re clenching down and coming all over his cock. He pulls out just before he finishes, stroking himself, finally coming hard against your thigh.

Joel kisses your forehead and threads his fingers through yours. You close your eyes and just breathe - he smells like pine and leather, and you can’t think of any better place to be.

He leaves you stretched out on his bed and comes back after he’s taken care of himself to clean you up, too. As with everything he’s done since the beginning of the night, he’s far gentler than you expect him to be, so sweet and tender that your treacherous heart starts to ache again.

You know you have to get up and go, but Joel’s bed is warm and comfortable, much like Joel himself. He’s settled down next to you and draped his arm over your stomach. You trace the prominent veins in his arm and the lines of his bicep with your fingertips, and he shivers under your touch, muscles twitching. You stay like that for so long that you lose track of time, and by the time you start to get up to leave, you think Joel’s drifted off to sleep.

He hasn’t. “Don’t go if you don’t have to.”

That’s all you need to hear because you don’t have to go _just yet_. You burrow into his side and press your face against his chest, content to stay right there.

You do, eventually, have to get up, though. Your group is planning to leave when the sun rises, and you can see the sun is already peeking up over the horizon through Joel’s bedroom window. As much as you’d love to stay, you make yourself get up. Joel’s rolled over to his side of the bed, snoring softly and twitching in his sleep every so often. Maybe it’s a little rude to leave without saying goodbye, but you don’t want to wake him and you’re notoriously bad at leaving, so you grab your clothes as silently as you can and creep downstairs to find your backpack.

The container of coffee beans is still sitting on the kitchen table from the night before, and your backpack and new guitar are leaning up against one of the table legs. You take the second container of coffee beans from your bag and leave the second container next to the first one, along with a short note.

**_First container is for the guitar + company._ **

**_Second container is for next time._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Do you hear the sounds of ignoring canon? Because I do.


End file.
